Draco's perfect nails (and a perfect prat)
by AriSophAlmah
Summary: This idea actually came from Insanity-is-Freedom, we kind of both started writing our own one-shot based on this idea (basically, a fic entirely on Draco admiring his nails, and starts daydreaming about his mother at one point), and we both posted our versions. Her's is called Nail dreaming, you should check it out.


**Disclaimer : **This is _fan_fiction; just what are we supposed to disclaim that isn't _already_ obvious?

**Author's Note : **This idea actually came from a friend of mine, Insanity-is-Freedom (oh, I guess there _is _something to disclaim after all, oops), and we kind of both started writing our own one-shot based on this idea (basically, a fic entirely on Draco admiring his nails, and starts daydreaming about his mother at one point), and we both posted our versions. Her's is called **Nail dreaming**, you should check it out.

Oh, and, W**arning : **the word "mudblood" appears many times, if this offends your sensibilities, don't read. I am in no way discriminatory towards muggleborns (despite their unfortunate state of non existence), and am just trying to capture the spoiled brattish bigoted essence of one Draco Malfoy.

**Draco's perfect nails (and a perfect prat)**

Draco stared at his nails, smiling faintly. No one had such perfect nails (he would know : he obsessively checked his classmates' hands every time he passed them). He used a special potion one had to brush on the nails themselves Pansy had given him (reluctantly, but Draco always got what he wanted). He fleetingly wondered why Pansy had been so evasive when he tried to ascertain the exact provenance of the "Nail Polish", but assumed she simply wanted to keep her supplier to herself for the moment. He privately thought that she wasn't doing a very good job of it (even that mudblood Granger had obtained some), but wouldn't admit that out loud : he might as well just declare that his nails were only as well cared for as any mudblood's! The perfect Prince of Slytherin (though only in his, and some Griffindorks' minds) wrinkled his nose (obviously a perfect pureblood nose) : why did he have to start thinking about something as disgusting as mudbloods while admiring something as beautiful and untainted as _his_ nails? He resolved to immediately cease to do so, and instead angled his nails towards the nonsensical windows (that showed the grounds as they were seen from the astronomy tower, despite the fact that he was in his dormitory_ in the dungeons_, thus _underground_), and more precisely towards the mid-afternoon sunlight. Sunlight that, much to his displeasure, was suddenly blocked. Draco scowled without detaching his gaze from his wonderful nails :

"Goyle," he drawled, "Get out of my _sunlight_."

"It's Blaise, actually," the other boy drawled back, criminally unaffected by Draco's tone and impressive beauty.

"Did I _ask _who you were?" Draco snapped, still not looking up, "No, I didn't, I told you to _get out of my__**sunlight**_!"

Zabini snorted, but finally left, after saying something about meeting with Zacharias Smith about the Charms project the _three _of them where supposed to finish before their next class, _tomorrow_. Didn't Zabini understand that there were more important things Draco could be (and in fact _was_) doing? No matter, when his father heard about this- wait, no, make that : when his _mother_ heard about this she would go talk to the other boy's (the only one with any authority on Zabini was his mother, notable for her acute misandry, that didn't for some reason include Blaise, and the death of the seven husbands imprudent enough to marry her, including Blaise's father). After _that _Blaise would have a talking-to about interrupting and disrespecting his betters. All Draco had to do now was get his mother to agree to do this. She was harder to convince than his father. But her nails were much more beautiful than his father's. He was thankful- no, _glad_ (Malfoy's neither thank, nor apologize to, anyone or anything) – that he had inherited his mother's nails. He smiled faintly in self satisfaction as he admired them again in the declining light of the sun.

**Wait**, was his left little finger's nail half a millimeter longer than his right?! That wouldn't do, not at all! What would his mother say if she knew? A little voice in his mind he immediately decided sounded like Potter's whispered that she would tell him off for over reacting. Bbut he knew that in reality, she would be horrified (and in any case, Potter was always wrong). How dare Potter's voice start speaking in his head, anyway!... He blinked : he couldn't see his nails anymore. When he looked up (finally), he realized it was night. When had that happened? He blamed Potter for putting his voice in Draco's head.


End file.
